Heat and Sun
by Wyntermute
Summary: It’s not every day that Sakura gets a mission like this. She could deal with the high heels and half-baked revolution, but a dead man from the past definitely wasn’t in the job description. DeiSaku.
1. Ready, Set

**Title:** Heat and Sun  
**Fandom:** Naruto  
**Type:** Multi-chaptered  
**Rating:** Pg-13?  
**Pairings:** Deidara/Sakura  
**Word count:** 5,253  
**Summary:** It's not every day that Sakura gets a mission like this. She could deal with the high heels and half-baked revolution, but a dead man from the past definitely wasn't in the job description. Deidara / Sakura

**A/N:** Since the final chapter of _Somewhere_ is taking forever and a day to get finished due to a terrible case of writer's block, I've gone ahead and written the first chapter of a new fic that has been plaguing me for ages. To begin, we have Sakura embarking on an yet another adventure, and Deidara being one part down, two parts going insane over his artistic sensibilities. Slight Oscar Wilde reference in this chapter. We all know this will take me five zillion years to complete.

* * *

**Chapter 1 – Ready, Set…**

Sakura Haruno was by now quite convinced that life and whatever powers-that-be were having a nice laugh at her expense. How else was it that she could be the renowned Hokage's apprentice, an accomplished healer and all-around fearsome ninja, yet still have to frantically grab hold of the doorframe as she tripped over her own two feet?

As Ino collapsed into a fit of laughter, Sakura pulled a face in disgust and kicked off the pair of black pumps. "I _hate_ these things," she declared as she flopped down beside her best friend on the bed, wiggling her toes now that they had escaped the torture devices masquerading as footwear. "What kind of a mission has the requirement of 'ability to wear high heels'? That's got to be the stupidest thing I've ever heard!"

Stilling her giggles, Ino shook her head. "It's not stupid if you have to pass as a civilian. There's no better way to announce that you're a ninja on an undercover mission than being the only woman in the city in flats."

"I'm sure I won't be the only one –"

"Why take the chance?" Ino asked with a sigh. "I still think Tsunade should've picked me for this mission."

"Wishful thinking, Ino-pig. They needed someone competent," Sakura said smugly. Privately, however, she agreed that her friend was better suited to this sort of mission. Fitting into a 

fashion-conscious society where image was everything wasn't one of Sakura's strong suits.

"Don't talk to me about competent when you can't even walk to the door and back in a pair of heels," Ino snorted as she pushed herself off the bed and made her way over to the closet.

She had a point, Sakura conceded inwardly as she surveyed the mess of shoes scattered across Ino's bedroom. They might have the same shoe size but that didn't mean she had any of her best friend's grace when it came to walking in fancy footwear. After a half hour of abortive attempts at learning to walk in heels, Sakura's feet hurt already.

"Here!" Ino announced triumphantly as she pulled yet another pair of shoes from the depths of her closet. "Try these ones."

"Not again, please," Sakura groaned, burying her face into the bed's duvet.

Ignoring her friend's complaints, Ino sat down on the floor and maneuvered Sakura's feet into the new shoes. "I think these will work better -- they've got more straps and things to adjust. Your feet are kind of narrow and kept slipping out of the other shoes."

When the last buckle had been fastened, Sakura dared a glance downwards. "Not bad," she admitted reluctantly, taking in the black, open toed sandals with an array of crisscross straps. Standing carefully, she took an experimental step forward.

"The heels are only about an inch and half – they shouldn't be that hard to walk in," Ino said as she watched her friend hobble awkwardly around the room.

Wobbling over to the full length mirror beside the window, Sakura admired the way the shoes made her legs look: longer, more shapely. In combination with the haircut she'd got for the mission – a short, sleek bob that was apparently all the rage in the Sun Country at the moment – she finally looked like a woman rather than a girl.

"See what you've been missing all these years? Heels make you look good, don't they?" Ino asked. From the tone of her voice, she didn't even need to add 'I told you so'.

Sakura rolled her eyes as she tottered back over to the bed. "They do," she had to agree, "But I don't know how I'm going to pull this off all day, every day, for who knows how long."

"Stop complaining," Ino told her. "Is it really such a sacrifice to have to learn how to walk in heels when it means an amazing mission to a country no one's seen in ages?"

"I know, I know – I _am_ excited. It's a huge honour being chosen for a mission like this. Besides," she said with a frown, "I could really do with some time away from the hospital. It feels like all I ever do these days is put band-aids on genins' scraped knees. I'm definitely ready for some real action again."

"Be careful what you wish for," Ino warned. "You're going to be tracking down a bunch of revolutionaries, it won't be as easy as --"

A sudden knock at the window startled both women from their conversation. Perched on the windowsill, an ANBU with a cat mask and a familiar hairstyle waited expectantly.

Unlocking the window, Ino threw it open and asked irritably, "Can't you people ever use the door?"

Ignoring the comment, the ANBU delivered her message: "The Godaime requires both of you in her office. Immediately."

"Both of us?" Sakura repeated. The ANBU nodded and Ino shot her friend a curious glance – only Sakura was officially slotted for the high-ranking mission. Although Ino was expected to help prepare her for life as a civilian, the final, official details of the mission were to be given only to Sakura. That afternoon should mark the end of Ino's involvement, as Sakura was to head out to the Sun Country the next day. So why would Tsunade be calling them both?

"Alright, tell her we'll be right over," Ino said with a wave of her hand. "See you later, Tenten."

The ANBU's confident posture deflated and Sakura could almost picture the look of annoyance on the face behind the mask. "Come on guys, you're not supposed to know it's me."

"Well it's not like it takes your boyfriend's byakugan to see who you are," Ino pointed out. "If you're really going for anonymity you might want to change your hair – who else in Konoha wears buns like that?"

Sakura was certain that Tenten was trying her best to give an intimidating glare, but the effect was largely lost due to her mask. With a sigh of frustration, the ANBU disappeared in a swirl of leaves as Ino moved to close the window. Sakura shook her head and grinned. They might tease her, but she was happy for Tenten – she had finally achieved her dream of joining the prestigious ranks of elite ninja. In some ways, Sakura envied her. Work as a medic was an important and sometimes challenging job, but in the relatively peaceful time that had followed the final fall of Orochimaru and the Akatsuki she felt like she wasn't using her full potential.

Ino rapped her knuckles on her friend's head, interrupting her thoughts. "I realize there's a lot of extra room behind that great forehead of yours, but now's not the time to space out – we've got to go see Tsunade."

With that, Sakura kicked off the black strapped sandals and slid into her usual, military-issue shoes, reveling in their comfortable, not-high-heels feel. "That's so much better," she said with a sigh as she wiggled her toes. "Screw fitting in with the civilian population if it means being subjected to torture. Besides, maybe I'll start a new trend for flats or something."

"You are so doomed," Ino concluded.

* * *

Sakura never felt at ease in the Hokage's office. The polished floors, neat stacks of files meticulously organized by Shizune, and Tsunade's stiff posture and serious gaze all contrasted with her own mental image of the Fifth. Confined by protocol and the need to keep up appearances however, Sakura understood that a more comfortable atmosphere in the Hokage's office was impossible. But as Tsunade frowned over her steepled fingers at the two kunoichi in front of her, Sakura had a hard time recognizing the kind-hearted and often intoxicated woman she'd apprenticed under.

"Report," she said shortly.

Ino snapped into a smart salute. "We've got two suitcases packed with appropriate civilian clothing and have covered hair and makeup training according to the information we received."

Sakura had to bite the inside of her lip to keep from laughing. 'Hair and makeup training' was something only Ino could ever say.

"Overall she should be ready to pass as a Sun Country civilian," Ino finished, and Sakura silently thanked her for neglecting to mention the afternoon's trouble with shoes.

"Good." Tsunade nodded slightly. Pushing forward a large envelope, she motioned for Ino to take it. "There have been some last minute changes to the mission."

As Ino took the package, Tsunade explained, "Sakura will still act as the lead infiltrator, but rather than sending her reports as correspondence back to Konoha she'll meet with you once every few weeks. This should help eliminate the threat of her information being intercepted by the revolutionaries – we still don't know how many of them are active, or how they operate. You'll meet within the borders of the Sun Country under the guise of two old friends. As such, you've been accorded a small budget with which to purchase the necessary items to complete your disguise as a civilian of that country."

"Sweet!" Ino exclaimed as Sakura tried not to grin. Giving Ino a clothing budget was like throwing her an early birthday party. Tsunade raised an eyebrow, causing the younger woman to blush and clear her throat. "Ah, I mean… Thank you, I'm honoured to be of service."

Tsunade somehow managed to keep her face neutral. "Dismissed."

Ino threw Sakura a quick wink, obviously quite pleased, and flounced out the door.

As the door slid shut, Tsunade's rigid posture relaxed and she slouched into her chair.

"Sometimes I just don't know about that one," Tsunade muttered to herself. With a quick shake of her head, she refocused her attention on the kunoichi standing in front of her. "So tell me really, how are you feeling about this mission? And take a seat, no need to be so formal."

Sakura smiled at her mentor and sank into one of the chairs in front of the Hokage's desk. "I'm a little nervous," she admitted.

Tsunade smiled wryly. "That's no surprise. It's a solo mission in a foreign country – you'd have to be crazy not to be a bit scared. Let's go over the details again, it might help you out."

Sakura paused to collect her thoughts before she repeated the information she'd been given. "I'm going undercover to the Sun Country, which is a small, isolationist city-state to the south-west of the Fire Country. While there I'll act as a civilian. My objective is to infiltrate a group of revolutionaries that's trying to incite an uprising again the ruling monarchy and government. Once I've discovered the leaders, I'm to assassinate them and turn the other members over the country's military forces to deal with."

"That's the gist of it," said Tsunade. "I don't think I need to say this but: be careful. I know you can handle this but if there's anything unexpected come home immediately."

"I can't do that!" Sakura began, her eyes going wide at her mentor's words. "I know we're being offered a lot of money from the Sun Country for this. And Konoha needs it. We haven't had many big missions recently, not since the end of the troubles with the Akatsuki, and at this rate the economy is --"

Tsunade cut her off with a wave of her hand. "I know, I know. But we can't risk losing you – you're one of our top jounin, and a medic at that. And my student, of course." She smiled warmly and Sakura couldn't keep a happy blush from her face. "The Sun Country government rules the city-state with an iron fist and they're in dire straits indeed if they need to call in ninja. They've been self-sufficient for years, relying on their wealth from the colonies to build up their own forces – infantry and the like. They're only a city-state so they're far too small to have a hidden village of their own, and besides, after past experiences they _hate_ ninja. So the situation must be out of their control if they have to call us in. The Sun Country rarely lets any outsiders in."

"I know," said Sakura gravely, her heart beating a little too fast, slightly anxious at being entrusted with such an important mission. "That's why I can't screw this up – we need to earn their trust. Having such an immensely wealthy country support Konoha would be just what we need to turn around the state of Konoha's finances."

Tsunade shook her head. "Your safety comes first. The government has only granted permission for you to cross their borders – they were reluctant to allow Yamanaka in too. So if you do get into any trouble, we can't send backup. I need you to promise me you'll get out of there if things get too hot."

"But I couldn't just abandon the mission –"

"Actually you can," Tsunade said with a wry grin. "It's not a cheap commission, and they're paying half the fees in advance."

Sakura considered this for a moment, letting a small smile play across her face. Tsunade might joke about it now, but Sakura wouldn't feel right letting her down. Letting Konoha down. Cultivating a good relationship with the Sun Country would secure the hidden village's future.

"Anyway," sighed Tsunade as she handed Sakura an envelope, "I've kept you for too long. Take this – the final details of the mission and a complete briefing of the Sun Country's culture and current affairs, put together by their government. Remember: this is top-secret, even here in Konoha. The only agent you'll be meeting with is Ino, who will relate all information back to me. I will then pass the information back along to Sun Country personnel. A long and tedious process, but it should help maintain your undercover status. You can't meet with any royal agents directly – we can't risk your true identity being discovered. But once in the Sun Country, you've been cleared to use whatever means necessary to accomplish the mission."

Tsunade gave her a pointed look and Sakura raised an eyebrow in response. That wasn't a phrase ninja heard very often. The monarchy must really want the revolutionaries dealt with if they'd handed her complete immunity – license to do whatever she pleased if the ends justified the means.

Not knowing what else to say, Sakura took a firm hold on the important mission papers she'd been given, rose from her chair, and gave a small bow in farewell to her mentor.

"Sakura," called the Hokage, causing Sakura to turn back to face her teacher just as she was about to leave. Tsunade gave her a tight smile, full of pride yet tempered with worry. "Good luck."

"Just leave it to me," said Sakura with a reassuring grin, as she barely stopped herself from giving the nice-guy pose. "These revolutionaries are going down."

* * *

Deidara sneered unpleasantly at a group of young bourgeois women who giggled and cast him flirtatious glances over the tops of their lace fans – the fashion of the week, apparently.

Normally he should be flattered by the attention, but after a few weeks in the Sun Country he'd quickly learned that the constant parade of well-dressed women along café-laden streets would make doe eyes at anything resembling a member of the opposite sex. By now he found their lifestyle irritatingly frivolous, and their attentions downright annoying. And besides, he had no patience for games.

He hadn't since he'd fought that Uchiha kid, since he'd lost everything. He'd taken such pride in his work, in his art, but when it came down to it, it wasn't enough. His art had been defeated, and to add insult to injury, he couldn't even blow himself up right. That knowledge alone was painful, but on top of the physical agony he'd had to endure over years of healing it was almost too much.

It was a miracle he'd survived at all – alone and on the brink of death. If the explosion had worked as it was meant to it should have been impossible for him to survive. But somehow his body had clung to the thin remnants of life, despite the hole blown open in his chest, and his consciousness had had no choice but to follow along. He hardly remembered the first few months, but that was for the best. Vaguely, he knew that he'd been found by villagers and had been too weak to fight off helping hands. Once he'd been healed enough to regain some lucidity he'd fled, too proud to accept any more help. But once again his body betrayed him, and after he collapsed he was taken in by yet another kind-hearted village.

This pattern – long, painful, and humiliating – had repeated itself until finally he had regained enough of his strength to survive on his own. By that point there was no question of whether he would live, only a matter of how long the healing process would take. He'd cheated death, but the ordeal had left its marks. Eventually he regained movement in his limbs, working out the stiff, damaged muscles until they functioned passably well, yet nowhere near their former capabilities.

Another group of young women waved at him as he stalked past their café table. He ignored the women – they wouldn't pay him as much attention if they knew what was partially concealed beneath a pair of dark sunglasses. His hand reached up to touch his face, absentmindedly running his fingers over the web of scars that distorted the skin under his left eye. Realizing his actions, he shoved his traitorous hand back in his jean pockets.

As his healing had progressed, it had become increasingly clear that the explosion had shattered the symmetry of his face. Most of the scars had faded, but he was forever branded with that one particular patch. The other permanent scars could be hidden quite easily – the messy array of twisted, rough scar tissue across his chest that replaced his previous tattoo, and various other marks that wound their way from his left shoulder to elbow. Perhaps it was punishment for his former vanity –he could still make works of art, but no longer be one.

He'd come to terms with that long ago, but now that his physical healing was complete – years after the event – he had a whole new set of issues to deal with.

There was no place for him in this world.

No place for artistic genius, and certainly no place for a wanted criminal, presumed dead. He'd begun to realize this shortly after he'd regained enough strength to live on his own. There was nowhere for him to hide, nowhere that he could call home. So he'd stuck to the seedy parts of cities, places where no one would care if one more victim of terrible scarring appeared.

He'd considered his options but found none. He couldn't, wouldn't go crawling back to the Akatsuki, not after having failed so thoroughly. The final nail was driven into that option too when the rumours began that the organization had been defeated. His only other two choices were also busts. He couldn't exactly waltz into a hidden village and pick up a new life, nor could he adopt a new identity in a civilian town – it wasn't really his thing.

So he found himself wandering, practicing his art but drawing less and less pleasure from it – it had let him down, and besides, what could he possibly do to top the finale of his ill-fated battle with the Uchiha boy? The explosion had destroyed the bloodline mouth on his chest, making a repeat performance impossible anyway.

The Sun Country had seemed a likely haven at first – an isolationist city-state with little contact outside its borders and a profound mistrust of strangers. It was something new and exciting, just enough to pique his interest. He'd found a place that made fake papers, run by a rather unscrupulous gentleman who asked no questions, and paid in the only thing he could offer – his profession. After assassinating a rival falsifier, Deidara was on his way with a Sun Country identity card. He'd kept his name the same – it wasn't as though anyone would recognize him here. Besides, he thought bitterly, his name was one of the few small scraps of identity he had left.

After two weeks of living in the city, however, it was beginning to grate on him. He'd begun to tire of his wandering lifestyle and had at first thought that this was the perfect opportunity to spend a year, maybe two, in one place. It wasn't as though he was copping out and taking up a civilian life either; the cost of living in the Sun Country was exorbitant, and Deidara was pleased to note that his body – no longer fit for the exertions required of a ninja – still served him well enough for petty theft and burglary.

But the Sun Country sickened him.

Finally arriving at his destination, Deidara refocused his thoughts to the present and wrapped his hands – carefully clad in gloves, despite the heat – around the golden bars of the gates that surrounded the royal palace. Among the crowds of well-dressed citizens who regularly gawked at the enormous structure, his presence went unnoticed by the guards.

The palace was one of the largest, most impressive buildings in the entire city. It shone with the pristine white favoured by most of the Sun Country architecture and was surrounded by well-kept gardens and fountains, safely guarded by tall, shining gates. The palace itself was a masterpiece of architecture and masonry, renowned for its facade that curved gently, giving the entrance the appearance of undulation, like a rippling wave. From the centre of the palace rose a great tower which housed a giant, golden bell. The entire structure was covered with statues that must have taken lifetimes to carve, depicting goddesses and creatures of legend. It was celebrated by the Sun Country as one of the most magnificent feats of architecture ever accomplished.

And it was the ugliest thing Deidara had ever seen.

It hadn't taken him long to see that if the people of the Sun Country valued something above money, it was beauty and appearance. But what passed as beauty was, in Deidara's mind, absolutely revolting and a disgrace to true art. Everything in the Sun Country was overdone and superficial, worn or created only to dazzle the eyes of others.

Even the architecture -- domes, churches, piazzas -- filled him with an irrational amount of fury. Some of them had been built centuries ago, and yet they were still admired as great works of art, never to be replaced or destroyed. The older buildings were the measure by which modern architecture was judged, and so even the newer structures resembled these old monstrosities. Of all these, the royal palace was by far the worst offender, taking every aspect admired in past masterpieces and compiling them into one great abomination.

And if the elite of the nation had their way, it would stand forever.

The thought of this was even more horrifying to Deidara. If art was to imitate life, then how could it last forever? If something was to be truly beautiful it needed to end, otherwise it would remain incomplete. Beauty could only exist if it were fleeting in nature, nothing was meant to be adored for centuries.

But it wasn't just the architecture. He hated the fashion, the people, and the whole frivolous style of life with equal fervour. And yet, he found that he couldn't just leave. It was like watching some horrifying accident; he couldn't bring himself to look away from something so terrible.

At last releasing his white-knuckled grip on the gates, Deidara stalked away from the monstrous palace, unapologetic as he shouldered his way roughly through the crowd of onlookers. With thoughts of how much everything in the Sun Country went against his own theories of aesthetics weighing heavily on his mind, he paid no attention to where he went.

He was uncertain of how long he'd walked, but by the time his rage had subsided enough for him to regain awareness of his surroundings, he'd ventured into a part of town he'd never seen before. The first thing that struck him was that it wasn't white. The surrounding apartments were the same tall, imposing structures found everywhere else in the city state, but their usually perfect walls were marred by dirt and grime.

Drawing himself completely out of his thoughts, he wandered into a main square, surprised to find that the stones on the ground were slightly sticky beneath his shoes and clearly hadn't been cleaned in ages. He frowned and glanced around, noting that for once he wasn't surrounded by people wearing extravagant colours and outfits. Instead, the emaciated figures were dressed in torn and tarnished clothes and seemed to be staring at him, the strange newcomer.

Deidara grinned to himself, feeling slightly better to know that even the Sun Country had its bad parts of town.

Before he could investigate the area further, a boy ran into the centre of the square, shouting some nonsense about "Liberty or death!". Deidara was almost tempted to give the annoying brat the one of those choices he could fulfill, but figured the police would do so soon enough anyway.

As the boy proceeded to throw an armful of papers into the air, Deidara frowned and glanced around. Now that he thought of it, the familiar Sun Country police in their bright blue uniforms were nowhere to be seen.

Curiosity piqued, he knelt down to pick up one of the pamphlets that had been scattered across the square. 'The time for change is now!' it declared in bold, black letters, followed by various other revolutionary slogans and what seemed to be a manifesto against the heavy-handed monarchy and its oppression of the lower classes.

Deidara raised his eyebrows. This was the first he'd heard of social unrest in the Sun Country. Then again, this was also the first time he'd wandered into one of the less privileged neighbourhoods. Knowing that class tensions lay hidden behind the extravagant facade of the city-state was an oddly cheerful thought for Deidara. In a way, it reminded him of his time before the Akatsuki, when he'd been involved in revolutionary groups. He hadn't thought of that part of his past in a long time, but suddenly he found himself almost nostalgic for the excitement it had contained.

Glancing up from the pamphlet, he caught sight of the boy who'd thrown the papers just before he dashed off down an alleyway. It was a foolish idea, he told himself, but he had already begun to follow the boy. He had no business playing at revolution here, in a country he knew little about, but it struck him that this could be the perfect opportunity to lash out at the people and culture that had created the 'art' he so despised. Failing that, it would at least provide some amusement for a while.

The boy glanced over his shoulder and, seeing that he was being followed, quickened his pace. But he was young and his stride was not yet long enough to contend with Deidara's own. When at last he caught up with the brat he grabbed him by the collar and held him up, an arm's length away.

"Put me down!" demanded the boy and swung his fists futilely. He was a thin, scrawny child, and his reach was too short to pose any danger to Deidara.

The boy continued to flail and generally be a nuisance so Deidara shook him a few times until he seemed to calm down. At last, seeing that he was outmatched, the boy glared at him and spat, "You can kill me if you like, but I'll never betray the revolution!"

"As appealing as that idea is, yeah," Deidara drawled, finding it somewhat amusing that the boy seemed to think he was one of the king's forces, "I have no intention of killing you."

"I won't give in to torture either!"

Resisting the urge to shake the kid some more, just for getting on his nerves, Deidara tried with little success to keep his temper in check. "Look," he said through clenched teeth, "I'm not a cop, and I'm not going to harm, kill, or otherwise maim you, so just shut up for minute."

The boy, unconvinced, took another swing at him.

"Stop that," Deidara growled and held the kid higher in the air. "I want to join your revolution, yeah," he said without further preamble.

"Well, you can't." The boy made a face at him. "We're running a _civilized_ revolution -- we'd never let someone as brutish as _you_ join."

Frustrated and reminded why he hated children, Deidara glared at the boy and tightened his grip on his collar. Civilized. He could do civilized. He could keep his past hidden and pretend to be good. For a while. But at this rate he wasn't going to get any information out of the brat. It shouldn't be this hard to join a silly revolution -- with his skills they should be begging him to join.

The boy seemed to notice that he'd struck a chord with his captor and continued with a sneer, "Besides, you have to be a _professional_ revolutionary to join."

Deidara didn't know quite what to say to that. "_You're_ a professional revolutionary, yeah?"

"Yes," replied the boy. "As a matter of fact, I am."

He raised his chin in an effort to appear dignified, but the effect was somewhat lessened as he swung suspended above the ground from Deidara's grasp.

Deidara could tell it was high time to let the boy go, before he ended up breaking his promise that he wouldn't hurt him. "Whatever," he said shortly, fixing the kid with his most menacing stare. "If you don't want me to help you out, that's fine. But tell your leader this: your revolution could use my skills. Tell him to watch the front pages of the papers if he wants my resume. If he's interested, he can find me himself. I don't want to deal with underlings anymore."

The boy sucked in a breath, no doubt preparing to express his displeasure at being called an underling, but Deidara dropped him unceremoniously from his grasp before he had the chance.

The boy stumbled as he hit the ground, but quickly regained his balance. "Down with the oppressors who prey on the weak!" he cried, delivering a swift kick to Deidara's shins before turning tail and running as fast as his skinny legs could carry him.

Deidara clenched his fists and, in a display of astonishing self-control, refrained from tracking down and murdering the brat. With what felt like a bruise forming on one of his legs, he made his way back to the main part of the city. All he had to do now was cause enough trouble to draw the attention of the less juvenile revolutionaries. And really, for him that would pose no problem at all.

As he emerged back into an upper-class neighbourhood, he grinned at the pristine white buildings and lavish shops for the first time. A few female passersby noticed his good humour and giggled at him. Deidara took no notice and continued on, lost in his own thoughts of how best to cause mayhem and destruction on a more 'civilized' level.

It would be so easy, really. The Sun Country was going down.


	2. Gin and Tonic

**Title:** Heat and Sun  
**Fandom:** Naruto  
**Type:** Multi-chapter  
**Rating:** PG-13?  
**Pairings:** Deidara/Sakura  
**Word count:** 4,085

**A/N:** Ookay, so apparently I can't stop writing this at the moment. There are a number of small references to things throughout this chapter, the biggest of which is that yes, Sakura is wearing one of Maria Schneider's outfits from _Last Tango in Paris_.

* * *

**Chapter 2 – Gin and Tonic (Better Make It A Double)**

* * *

Why anyone would ever want to harm such a wonderful place was beyond her, Sakura thought as she drew open the curtains and let the morning light into her new Sun Country flat.

Upon her arrival in the city-state the day before, she'd made her way to her apartment, the address of which had been in the secret documents Tsunade had given her. From the first glance it was obvious that the monarchy had spared no expense when securing her living arrangements. The tall, white building was the same as the others Sakura had seen on her way through the city, but she was impressed all the same.

The obliging landlady seemed to be under the impression that Sakura was an important visitor from one of the colonies, and showed every courtesy as she handed over the keys to the flat. All the furnishings were included, the woman had informed her, and a few days' supply of food had been provided for her as well. Sakura had thanked her and found herself wondering if she had really signed up for a dangerous mission and not a trip to a resort.

And now, as Sakura turned from the window to survey her apartment, she was even more convinced that this could all be some lavish vacation. Her flat made her feel like she was a posh celebrity or something equally absurd. Everything from the polished hardwood floors to the angular black and white furniture screamed chic. The kitchen was done in what looked like black marble, with a glass-topped dinner table and silver – real silver! – utensils. The walls were decorated with intriguing artwork, and the bedroom was so inviting that Sakura, upon seeing it, had had little choice but to roll herself up in the bed's duvet and luxuriate in the feeling of the soft material against her skin.

Not to mention, the view from the apartment was something else entirely. Squinting against the bright morning sun, she looked out across the busy street, decorated with colourful boutiques and restaurants. In the distance she could see ornate spires rise up from behind the surrounding rooftops, and wondered if maybe just for today she could ignore her mission and go sightseeing instead.

But as she opened the morning paper as she sat down to breakfast – fruit, tea, and chocolate-covered biscuits – her hopes were dashed the instant she saw the headlines.

'Mysterious Bank Explosion Leaves Citizens Shaken' it announced, accompanied by a picture of a large vault with a wide hole blown open in it. Sakura frowned, sipped at her tea, and continued reading:

"_Authorities were left scratching their heads this morning when a blast went off in the main branch of the National Bank. The fire brigade was quick to contain the flames, and police soon discovered that not only had no one been injured, but nothing had been stolen._

_This is the third such explosion in recent weeks – the other two occurring at wealthy private residences. Reasons for the attacks are unknown, and police urge anyone with information to come forward._

"_I can't believe anyone would do something like this," reported one frightened teller, who for security reasons asked to remain anonymous. "It's just so scary, I don't think I'll ever feel safe again—""_

Sakura scanned the rest of the article with narrowed eyes. It was the revolutionaries, she thought. It had to be. Attacks of this sort could only be to demonstrate their power. It was an attention grab, a show of force and a humiliation to the authorities who failed to prevent it. With a sigh, Sakura finished her breakfast and realized that she'd have to get started on infiltrating the revolutionary movement as soon as possible.

But how? That would be the hardest part of the mission. She couldn't exactly stand on a street corner and announce her desire to join an illegal organization in hopes that someone would welcome her with open arms. She had to draw their attention, pretend to be sympathetic to their cause, and somehow gain their trust and access to their inner ranks.

First things first though, she thought as she made her way into her bedroom and threw open the wardrobe doors. She needed to pass as a civilian. This in itself would prove challenging enough.

Scanning through the selection of outfits, she picked out one that Ino had compiled based off an example in a Sun Country magazine. Ino had said the short yellow tunic wasn't meant to be worn with trousers underneath, but Sakura was skeptical as she slipped the garment over her shoulders and saw that the material barely brushed her mid-thighs. Turning to look at herself in the full-length mirror, she was at least reassured to note that the skimpy outfit covered everything essential. A brown belt cinched around her waist and a pair of heeled leather boots completed the outfit.

There was an oddly fluffy white jacket that Ino had said was meant to be paired with the ensemble, but Sakura concluded that it was far too hot – not to mention ridiculous looking – so she shoved it back into the wardrobe. Then, just because she felt naked without one, she strapped a kunai onto her upper thigh, making sure it was hidden by the dress.

After another few minutes battling with her hair and cosmetics, Sakura gave up, washed her face clean, and jammed a wide-brimmed hat onto her head. There, she thought, frustrated, now no one would have to see her face _or_ her hair. She tried to reason with herself that this would help maintain her cover anyway, but she was still in a foul mood when she left her apartment.

This lifted quickly, however, as the landlady greeted her cheerfully on the landing, busy sweeping the floor, and reminded her that she was free to use one of the building's bicycles if she'd like – it was _so hard_ to get around the city on foot, the woman said. Sakura thanked her and tried not to giggle. Bicycles. That was _so quaint_.

Feeling more and more like a tourist, Sakura selected one of the bikes – thoroughly delighted that it had _a basket_ _on the front_ – and after a few tries learned how to ride without causing her embarrassingly short outfit to hike up inappropriately.

Uncertain of where she was going, she followed random streets until she arrived at what appeared to be a main area. The street was lined with the usual ornate white apartments, but the ground levels seemed to consist entirely of cafes. Stashing her bike against the railing of a patio, she wandered up the busy street on foot, overwhelmed by the chatter from the cafes, the smell of coffee and cologne, and the beautiful people. Compared to everyone else she felt underdressed, and now wished that she'd worn the silly white coat anyway.

At first she blushed when men threw her appreciative glances or catcalls, taking refuge under the brim of her hat and wondering if she should take Ino's advice to 'sample the local specialties', but she quickly learned to disregard them once she realized that they did the same thing to every girl who walked by.

Culture shock indeed, she thought, and hurried down a side street in search of calm.

She found it momentarily in front of what she guessed was a church. It was a large, imposing building in old stone, with columns around the entrance and a dome over the top. On one side stood a life-sized statue of what was probably a god, city hero, or whatever, but Sakura didn't give that much thought – she was too busy at her discovery that it was a _very_ good nude and the realization that it was probably not meant to inspire such inappropriate thoughts seeing as how it was placed outside a church.

Stifling her giggles, she wondered if she could go in. But there was no way she could pass that off as anything but sightseeing, and she really needed to focus on her mission and figure out how to contact the revolutionaries. Increasingly though, she felt like she needed some divine intervention to accomplish this. Sakura had no religious inclinations, but maybe she'd check out the church anyway. Just in case. 'Dear deity,' she could imagine herself saying, 'Please help me join a criminal organization. I would be very grateful. P.S. I like your statue.'

Grinning to herself, Sakura was interrupted from her thoughts by a loud, screechy voice.

"_Oh my god_, that hat is so last month."

Feeling the blood rush to her face, Sakura realized with dismay that there were no other people around her wearing hats. Turning, she caught sight of the woman who'd made the comment.

She was tall, made unnaturally so by a pair of extraordinary heels. Her dress flared out around her shoulders, but was then sucked into an impossibly tiny corset. Her iridescent skirt was ripped in what Sakura guessed was supposed to be an artistic manner and – were those _peacock feathers_ in her hair? 

Sakura was so dazzled by the blinding mix of colours that she could do nothing but gape in astonishment.

"Look at her," sneered the woman's friend, clad in similar attire, "She looks like a – like a _tourist_."

The word was uttered with such derision that Sakura swallowed uncomfortably. So much for her favourable first impressions of the Sun Country. It might be a gorgeous place, but the people were _jerks_. She shifted uncertainly, not knowing whether she should insult the women back or go meekly on her way. Taking another glance at them though, their astounding outfits suddenly seemed to Sakura as incredibly tacky and overdone. Clearly they had far too much money if they went for a morning walk sporting something like that.

And with that, the divine intervention she'd hoped for struck.

She'd been given permission to use _whatever means necessary_ to take down the revolutionaries. And as such, these poor, misguided women had just given her the perfect idea to attract their attention.

Sakura smiled pleasantly at the women and, satisfied to see a look of confusion pass across their faces, turned back toward the main street and went to retrieve her bicycle.

* * *

Deidara was in a good mood. It was a gorgeous day, he had a gin and tonic in one hand, and he'd had a wonderful time blowing up a bank the night before.

He finished his drink, signalled for the waiter to bring him another, and read the front page of the newspaper again. 'Mysterious Bank Explosion Leaves Citizens Shaken'. It sounded better every time he read it.

This was the third vault he'd destroyed. It had taken a lot of willpower not to take anything from them, but it was necessary. He was getting the attention he needed, and doing it in a 'civilized' way. No one harmed, nothing stolen. He hoped it was a clear enough message for the revolutionaries: _This is what I can do for you_. If he knew one thing about underground organizations, it was that they always needed money. And if they'd let him join, he could get them as much as they wanted.

As the waiter returned with a fresh drink, Deidara concluded that maybe not everything about the Sun Country was unbearable. The sun was warm, the bartender was good, and... As he searched for a third reason, one of the people in the crowd outside the cafe caught his eye.

She was a young woman, around twenty he guessed, and she stood out from the others for a reason he couldn't identify at first. Her clothing was, as far as Sun Country standards went, fairly plain, and her face was mostly hidden by a wide hat. And yet she somehow managed to catch his eye. There was something about her that was so, so... Inartificial.

That must be it, he decided. She really didn't fit in with the other Sun Country women, but that was for the best.

Watching her carefully from behind his sunglasses, he wondered what else struck him about her. She seemed almost familiar, but he couldn't place her. She walked alongside the patio, running her hand along the railing. Deidara couldn't tell due to the shadow of the hat, but he suspected that she was smiling.

Her good humour was destroyed though, as one of her heeled boots caught on the pavement, sending her stumbling forward. Deidara tried not to laugh too noticeably – anything at the expense of others was _always_ funny – and watched as she recovered quickly, glanced about in embarrassment, and hurriedly picked up a white bicycle from against the fence.

She seemed a bit confused as to how to get on the bike and kept tugging at her short yellow dress. Deidara watched with even more interest as she eventually threw all caution to the wind and just hopped on, revealing a tempting flash of white cotton, a shapely thigh and… a kunai holster?

Deidara raised his sunglasses and squinted after the girl as she pedaled away, almost certain that it had been a trick of the light. Puzzled, he took a sip of his drink and considered what he'd seen. Maybe he was just being paranoid, but his eyes didn't often fool him like this. Still perplexed, he raised an eyebrow at the pale amber liquid in the glass he held. He was certain he hadn't had _that_ much to drink.

Now that he thought about it though, despite the girl's one stumble she'd moved with a grace uncharacteristic of a civilian woman. The certainty in her stride, the elegance and control with which she'd moved spoke of toned muscles under the soft skin. She moved like a dancer, or even…

No, Deidara thought to himself, that's impossible. Everyone knew the Sun Country didn't take well to ni—

"Do you mind if I join you?"

Deidara glanced up sharply at the voice that had interrupted his thoughts. The man smiled at him amiably and, without waiting for a reply, sat down in the other chair at the table. Deidara scowled at him and was about to tell him that _yes he did mind_, but something about the man made him hesitate.

He had straight black hair that, while tied back loosely, fell just past his shoulders. His smile was just wide enough to look silly, and his voice, while smooth, had an odd lilt to it. He looked young enough, but he had the sort of face that made guessing his exact age difficult. His green eyes were half-lidded and gave the impression that he was perpetually tired. And yet, he had a sort of energy and charisma about him that made Deidara pause and refrain from sending him away.

"Is that any good?" the man asked, pointing to Deidara's drink. Deidara made no reply but that did not deter the man from calling to the waiter to bring him the same thing.

They sat in silence for a moment, Deidara glaring while the man smiled brightly and appeared unconcerned with the other's evident hostility. When at last the second gin and tonic arrived, the man tipped the waiter generously before turning back to Deidara.

"The name's Sorel," he said, and extended a hand. When Deidara only glared harder and made no move to shake hands, the other man took no offence and pretended that he'd simply been reaching for the dessert menu.

"It's very nice to meet you," continued Sorel, seemingly content to carry out the entire conversation on his own. "I believe you ran into a, err, _business associate_ of mine a while ago?"

_Finally_, thought Deidara triumphantly. Seeing Deidara's glare fade into a slight grin, Sorel became even more encouraged. "I've had a look at, err—" He paused and cast a glance at the newspaper that lay discarded to one side of the table before continuing, "_Your_ _resume,_ and have concluded that you have just the skills we're looking for. I hope you're still interested in – how else to say this – _employment_?"

Deidara nodded, and the man went on, "Oh wonderful! Well, I have to warn you that the pay isn't very high, but the long-term benefits should be _astounding_."

He laughed a little at his own joke, and Deidara got the impression that Sorel had considered it quite clever.

"Well I'm afraid I can't stay much longer," continued the man as he glanced at his watch. "Business is rather pressing these days you know. If you're still interested, the next—the next _staff meeting_ will be in two weeks." He dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Just come to the corner of Stendhal and St. Charles at around ten p.m. and we'll send someone to pick you up."

Then, without having taken a single sip of his drink, he rose, bid Deidara good day, and strolled out of the cafe.

Deidara sat in silence for a moment before downing his drink. Then he reached over and downed the other man's untouched drink as well. He ordered yet another, and suddenly hoped very dearly that Sorel wasn't actually the leader of the revolutionary forces.

Maybe they'd sent another underling to deal with him.

Please let him be an underling.

* * *

Sakura took a long look at the various pieces of jewellery she'd acquired over the past two weeks and had to admit she felt a little guilty. She _had_ been cleared to do whatever she felt necessary and she _did_ only steal from the extravagantly rich, but _still_.

Picking up a ruby brooch, she thought that perhaps she didn't feel so bad about that one at least. It had been the first she'd taken, and had belonged to the woman who'd made fun of her hat. Hitting a different household each night, by now Sakura had accumulated quite a collection of valuables. She'd give them back eventually, but for now she needed to build up a reputation. At first she'd considered just breaking into aristocratic houses and not taking anything – similar to the revolutionaries' own style – but since she wasn't blowing anything up she knew she'd never make the headlines like that.

So instead she took trinkets that were sure to be missed, but targeted only those who could afford it. Surely her skills would draw the attention of the revolutionaries? Or at least, she should appear to them as interesting competition. She would perform one last break-in that night, and then she would wait a while for them to send her a sign.

Replacing the box of stolen jewellery into the back of her wardrobe, Sakura went through one last set of stretches. She was lucky she'd brought along some of her ninja clothing, she reflected, as cat burglary would have been impossible in anything else.

Confident that this was going to be another easy break-in, Sakura slipped out her bedroom window and climbed onto the roof of the building.

* * *

It was _too_ easy, Sakura sighed to herself as she popped open the jewellery box with a hair pin. People here just weren't used to dealing with thieves at her level, she guessed.

Sending a mental apology to the sleeping noblewoman and her husband, Sakura selected a long string of pearls and a set of emerald earrings and tucked them into the pouch on her belt. With that, she crept silently from the room and made her way to a conveniently open window. Balancing on the sill, she closed the window behind her and prepared to make her way home across the rooftops. She jumped from the aristocratic mansion onto a neighbouring building, feeling more relaxed now that the crime had already been committed.

This feeling was short-lived, however, as the moment Sakura's foot connected with the rooftop, she slipped and was sent tumbling downwards.

Startled by her sudden loss of balance, she grabbed frantically at the shingles, trying to slow her descent. But they felt oddly wet and slimy, and Sakura couldn't get a grip on anything. She slid downwards until finally, as she was sent flying off the side of the roof, she caught hold of an eaves trough.

Muscles straining, she tried to pull herself back up onto the safety of the roof – it was a long drop to the ground, and one that she didn't fancy making. Dangling from the side of the building, Sakura held on tight with one hand and felt around experimentally with the other. But the shingles offered no traction, and she came to the startling conclusion that they'd been purposefully covered in something slippery.

"Oh _finally_," came a voice from below. "We were starting to worry that we'd never guess your next target right."

Sakura glanced down and saw that three figures had gathered on the street beneath her. Two of them appeared to be fully grown men, but one was so short that he had to be a child. In the darkness she couldn't make out their features, but she had a feeling they weren't the authorities. She looked back up, concentrating on keeping her grip.

"You _greased_ the rooftop?" she asked incredulously. "What's wrong with you? I almost died!"

"That took us a long time, you know," said a high-pitched, almost squeaky voice. Must be the kid, Sakura thought. "And I thought for sure you'd be a guy. Ladies don't steal things – that's _so weird._"

"Quiet, Jean," came a third, hushed voice. It was deep and rough, distinguishing the man from the first one that had spoken.

"_No names_!" hissed the kid.

"If you don't mind," Sakura called down impatiently as her fingers began to ache, "I'd appreciate it if you could get to the point."

"Of course," said the first man. His voice was smooth and friendly, as though he hadn't just almost sent her plummeting to her death. There was a slight hint of something in his voice, and Sakura guessed it was the traces of a fading accent. "It's unfortunate that we had to resort to such measures, but we hope you won't think of us too poorly. We placed our trust in your evident skills."

Sakura said nothing and waited until he continued, "Skills that _we need_."

Although it was too dark for the men to see her properly, Sakura tried to hide her smile of success.

"And you're lucky, really," added the kid, "That we got to you first and not the thieves' guild. They're _furious_ that someone's been stealing without a permit."

"Oh," she said, trying to wrap her mind around this bizarre piece of information. "I'm sorry, I didn't know."

"No harm done!" called the first voice again, as Sakura mentally cursed herself for apologizing so stupidly. "I'll try to smooth things over with them. Anyway," he continued cheerfully, "What we really wanted to talk about was if you'd ever consider a different field of work. We're currently recruiting for something a bit more... Charitable. But not without excitement, of course."

"What are you proposing?" she asked in what she hoped was a cautious manner. It was difficult though, because this was all going _so perfectly_.

"It would take too long to explain right now," said the man. "But we'll leave all the information you need right here. You can come get it after we've left." Sakura glanced down and watched as one of the men placed a package on the ground. "If you're interested," he continued, "Be at the corner of Jaurès and Comte-Vert tomorrow night around ten."

"And with that," he concluded, "We'll take our leave. I trust you'll be able to get down from there on your own? We don't mean to leave you hanging –" Sakura winced at the bad pun, while the man sounded quite pleased with himself. "—But we really must be off before any of the neighbours wake up."

"Bye!" said the kid, before he was dragged away by his two companions.

Waiting until she was certain they were gone, Sakura edged her way along the side of the roof until she could drop down to a balcony below. From there, it was only a quick climb down from window to window to reach the ground. She picked up the stack of papers and undid the string that held them together. There wasn't much moonlight, but if she squinted she could make out the text. 'Rise of the Proletariat,' declared the title, 'What _YOU_ need to know about the next phase in history!'

Sakura grinned.

They'd taken the bait. She was in.


	3. The Gentlemen's Club

**Title: **Heat and Sun  
**Rating: **Pg-13  
**Pairings: **Deidara / Sakura  
**Word Count: **5,578

* * *

**Chapter 3 – The Gentlemen's Club**

* * *

"Jaurès, Jaurès," Sakura repeated to herself, trying to spot a street sign. She glanced behind her and quickened her pace.

It wasn't that she was being followed – there was nothing behind her but abandoned streets and a few flickering streetlamps. She shivered and tugged her coat tightly around her shoulders. The night wasn't cold, but it was _creepy_.

Perhaps she should have foreseen that the rendezvous point with the revolutionaries wouldn't be in a very reputable part of town. When she'd asked her landlady for directions to one of the streets the man had named the night before, the older woman had asked in surprise why she would _ever_ want to go there, and then reluctantly drew her a map.

So while Sakura had at least had _some_ warning, she certainly hadn't expected this. When she'd left her flat it was dark already but there were, if anything, even more people out on the streets than in daylight. This came as no surprise, as parties always seemed to go until morning and if Sakura left her windows open at night she'd awake to the drunken laughter of the rich.

But here in the old part of town the buildings were in disrepair and instead of white and gold the pervading colour of the area was a dirty gray. The dimly lit streets were empty except for a few women who loitered in doorways and who would turn their heads from Sakura in disinterest once they realized she wasn't a man.

At last she caught sight of a rusted sign nailed to the side of a building. Most of the paint had peeled away, but the faded imprint of 'Avenue Jean Jaurès' was still visible.

Sakura glanced around hopefully but saw no sign of anyone resembling the men she'd spoken with the night before. Beginning to worry, she rechecked the street sign and hoped she hadn't misheard the meeting point. She fidgeted nervously and tried not to think of what she must look like in her short skirt and long trench coat, standing on a street corner.

At last she spotted a man a little ways away who seemed to be approaching her cautiously. As he came closer she could see that he was slender, of average height, and had long black hair that he kept tied back. His eyelids seemed to droop heavily, and Sakura wondered if he was terribly tired or just looked like that all the time. There was something about him though, that made her want to listen to him.

"Excuse me," the man began hesitantly, and Sakura recognized the slightly accented voice as one of those she'd heard the night before.

"Oh good," she said, greatly relieved. "I was starting to think that I'd got the meeting place wrong."

"It _is_ you – excellent!" His face lit up in a smile, yet his eyes kept their lazy look to them. "I was a bit worried too, I didn't know what you would look like and I thought for a moment you might just be one of the usual pros—" Wisely, the man seemed to rethink his words. "Actually, never mind." He gave her a wide grin and offered his arm politely. "Shall we?"

Bemused at his old-fashioned gesture, Sakura took his proffered arm and allowed herself to be lead to the revolutionaries' hideout, trying to memorize all the turns they took. It was only a short walk away, the man reassured her, and then proceeded to deluge her with an unending stream of irrelevant chatter.

At last the man broke off his commentary about how this part of town wasn't as bad as it seemed – there used to be a wonderful bakery down the street, didn't she know? "Ah, here we are," he announced as they paused in front of one of the nearly identical rundown buildings.

Approaching the door, he knocked in a particular rhythm. Sakura tried not to grimace at what was obviously supposed to be a secret code.

The door flew open to reveal a boy.

"_She's here!_" the kid called loudly over his shoulder in a high-pitched, familiar voice, before turning back to Sakura. "Hello," he said, only slightly more subdued.

"Um," said Sakura, a little thrown off by this unexpectedly friendly reception. "Hi."

The man who'd lead her to the apartment ushered her inside and closed the door. "His name is Jean," he said, nodding towards the child.

Jean was a small, skinny boy with ears that Sakura dearly hoped he would grow into. He looked no more than twelve and stared at her with the same open-mouthed admiration that Naruto still gave pretty girls. "I-" he started with a squeak, clearing his throat before he continued at a different pitch, "I can pick locks."

"That's nice," Sakura told him as he broke into a toothy grin.

"That reminds me!" said the man beside her suddenly, as though he'd just remembered something very important. He turned towards Sakura and extended his hand. "I'm Sorel."

"Pleased to meet you," Sakura replied automatically as she shook his hand. "I'm –"

"— I completely forgot to introduce myself earlier," Sorel continued with a laugh, as though this was somehow very funny. Sakura gave him a strained smile and decided to save her own introductions for later.

Sorel continued to talk, partly to her but mostly to himself, as Jean ran ahead of them down a flight of stairs into the building's basement. When they pushed open the door of a room on the lower level, Sakura was completely unsurprised at the state of the revolutionary headquarters.

Any part of the cement floor that wasn't covered by stacks of crates or boxes was worryingly cracked. The walls were grey and mostly plain, with the exception of a few maps and pamphlets that had been hastily taped up. There was a cheap plastic table in the centre of the room, with only one folding chair placed beside it. The single uncovered light bulb that hung from the ceiling hummed.

A broad-shouldered man with a square jaw and short, bristly brown hair sat on one of the many boxes. He watched Sakura calmly as she entered the room and, not once losing his serious expression, nodded at her in greeting. _Aha_, thought Sakura, he _had_ to be the leader, since it was exceedingly clear that Sorel was _not_.

"This is Pascal," said Sorel.

"Sorry about the whole roof thing last night," the man said politely. From his deep voice, Sakura recognized him as the third man from the evening before, the quiet one who'd only spoken to hush Jean.

"It's alright," Sakura reassured him while wondering inwardly if she could just kill him and go home.

"He's our medic," added Sorel happily, effectively dashing Sakura's hopes. "Take a seat anywhere you like," he continued, pulling up the folding chair for himself.

Long-standing habit caused her to choose a row of crates in view of the door. Keep the exit in sight, she told herself, and get out once the mission is accomplished.

The medic, Pascal, checked his watch and sighed in disgust. "The others are late." From the tone of his voice, Sakura got the impression that he didn't much like 'the others'.

Jean wrinkled his nose as he clambered onto a set of boxes so he could sit beside Sakura. "That's not very surprising though, knowing them."

The door opened suddenly and a beautiful blond woman strode into the room, her heels clicking smartly against the cement floor.

"Late as always, Estelle," remarked Sorel with his usual good humour.

"Fashionably so," said the woman as she ignored Sakura entirely and took a seat beside Pascal, crossing her legs.

Sakura watched as the woman lit up a cigarette, ignoring the disapproving looks Pascal sent her. She wore a tight-fitting, long black dress that seemed to be held up only by her enormous breasts, and was wrapped in an absurdly large white feather boa.

On second thought, Sakura concluded, Estelle wasn't actually beautiful. Estelle's beauty was that which came packaged in a tube - the sort that only men could see and truly believe to be real. She had a nose that hooked too much to be disguised with tricks of makeup, and penciled-in eyebrows that were drawn too thin. Beneath the thick layers of foundation and powder, faintly visible lines betrayed that she wasn't quite as young as she would like everyone to believe.

"She gets us information from the enemy," whispered Jean, eager to be helpful.

"How does she do that?" Sakura asked, before she stopped to think.

"I'm not sure yet." Jean frowned and knit his eyebrows. "Everyone says they'll tell me when I'm older."

If Estelle heard their conversation, she gave no indication of it. She took a long drag on her cigarette, looked around the room and asked, "Where's Titian? Usually I'm the last one to arrive."

"He's off getting our other new recruit," Sorel said. "Stendhal and St. Charles is a bit further away, so I'm not surprised he's taking this long."

Just then, the door opened yet again to reveal an attractive, tanned young man with curly brown hair that badly needed to be cut.

"Hey," he said without enthusiasm, taking no notice that his hair seemed to be falling in front of his eyes. "Got him."

With no further words of introduction, he shuffled over to a corner of the room and slouched against a pile of boxes, looking like the most bored revolutionary Sakura had ever seen. At least he was cute, she decided, but it was kind of a shame that he had to be arrested along with the rest of them. She hoped he wasn't the leader.

"And here's our second new member," announced Sorel cheerfully. He pointed to the stack of crates that Sakura was sitting on. "Why don't you take a seat over there by the young lady?"

Turning her attention back to the doorway, Sakura was pleased to note that the other man there was also very attractive. He wore a pair of well-fitting chinos and a bright blue shirt that was open at the collar. Despite the heat, his hands were clad in a pair of thin leather gloves. He had long blond hair that was pulled loosely back, leaving some to fall over the left side of his face, and an expression that told the world not to mess with him. From first-hand experience, Sakura knew that girls liked that sort of thing. A pity he'd have to go to jail too.

She was about to turn her attention back to Sorel when it occurred to her that the blond man was oddly familiar.

She glanced back at him. He stared at her with a look of dawning horror and Sakura was momentarily confused as she couldn't place where they'd met before.

Then she _really_ looked at him.

_Oh._

_Oh no._

* * *

He should have stayed at the bar, Deidara decided.

He hadn't minded wandering into a sleazy part of town late at night, and the guy who came to meet him was quiet and didn't get on his nerves, but suddenly everything went very wrong the moment he stepped into the revolutionaries' hideout.

The first thing that pissed him off was that that Sorel person was there, grinning at him like they were old friends. The second was that the brat who'd claimed to be a professional revolutionary was also there, and made a face at Deidara as he entered. There was also some blond chick who was eyeing him in a way he didn't like, and a very plain older man who Deidara didn't care enough about to form an opinion on.

Things seemed to get better for an instant as he recognized the pink-haired girl sitting on some boxes as the same one that had inadvertently flashed him while getting on her bike a couple weeks ago. She was pretty, but she was watching the guy who'd brought him to the hideout – Titian, was it? – with some interest, so that was probably a 'no'.

But then she had to go and fix her green eyes on him and Deidara realized with a sinking feeling that he'd once seen her a _long_ time ago, before she'd grown up and got so cute.

Frozen, he couldn't believe that Konoha had finally managed to track him down. How could they? He'd stayed far away, kept his head down. And what should they care anyway? The most trouble he'd caused in _years _was a bit of robbery and blowing up those safes – and a few necessary murders here and there but who was counting? None of that should have clued them onto his trail.

But as Sorel coughed and gestured for him to take a seat, Deidara noticed that the girl seemed just as surprised as he was at their sudden encounter. Maybe she was on the run too? As he sat down next to her, keeping as much distance between them as was possible on the crates, he figured that wasn't the answer either. She looked too infuriatingly 'good' to have ever become a missing-nin.

The revolutionaries certainly couldn't have scraped together enough money to hire her. So why did she have to show up and ruin his fun? There was only one other explanation he could think of, but that was unlikely as well. The Sun Country was known for its distrust of ninja, he couldn't imagine they'd ever hire one.

At least for the moment she seemed to pose no threat. She made no move to attack him or denounce him as a missing-nin, only sat uncomfortably stiff and silent. So he did the same, unwilling to leave the revolutionary group that he'd so hoped to join over the appearance of one girl. Choosing to neglect the knowledge that his former Akatsuki partner had met his end at her hands, Deidara vastly overestimated his own skills and figured that he could deal with her if she tried anything.

"_So_," began Sorel, clapping his hands and pasting on a huge grin, clearly trying to dispel the awkwardness that had settled over the room. Deidara hated him even more for it.

"Um," he continued and smiled at both Deidara and the girl but for once couldn't seem to find a topic to talk about. He hesitated some more before finally asking sheepishly, "What are your names, by the way? I'm afraid I forgot to ask."

The girl laughed nervously and Deidara clung to one last desperate hope that maybe he'd mistaken her identity and she was really just a very nervous, shy girl with an odd colour of hair and an uncanny resemblance to someone he'd once tried to kill.

"Why don't you go first?" Sorel suggested, looking pointedly at Deidara.

He gave his real name, not bothering to lie.

The girl beside him went absolutely still.

"That's a weird name," the kid next to her took the liberty of informing him. He was lucky he was more than an arm's length away this time.

Everyone made shushing noises at the brat and then turned towards the girl expectantly. She opened and closed her mouth a few times before she managed to stammer out: "S-Sakura."

_Damn_.

* * *

Okay, thought Sakura as she concentrated on breathing deeply, she could deal with this. She still had the mission under control.

There was just the slight hiccough that apparently the Akatsuki weren't quite as dead as they'd thought and now they were clearly trying to continue their diabolical plans of world domination, starting with a tiny city-state that had no ninja and little contact with the outside world, and by using a ragtag band of amateurs playing at being revolutionaries.

Surely that explained everything.

Except that it _didn't make sense at all_.

And _why_ had she given her real name? She'd had a fake identity memorized, but every coherent thought had evaporated from her mind the moment the Akatsuki had said his name.

Everything would be so much simpler if he'd just stayed dead.

But she had no time to ponder these thoughts further – for the moment he seemed just as shocked as she was, and the revolutionaries were proceeding with their meeting. As unexpected as this turn of events was, she couldn't let it interfere with her mission. Besides, he hadn't done anything to expose her true identity just yet – but why would that be?

"Now that introductions have all been made," said Sorel warmly, interrupting Sakura's thoughts, "I'd like to welcome both of you to the Gentlemen's Club."

Sakura blinked a few times and wondered frantically if she'd misheard. "Pardon?" she asked. She _was_ there for revolution and mayhem, right?

Sorel's cheerful face instantly morphed into the picture of fear. "You're not offended, are you? We _were_ a little concerned that 'gentlemen' wasn't very gender-inclusive and that some might have moral objections to a group that shares the name of a – let's say – _lewd_ establishment."

"I told you we should have chosen something more politically correct," muttered Pascal as he shook his head.

"But really, it's for the best," Sorel continued quickly, giving Sakura a reassuring smile. "It's better than a name that gives us away. Think about it. If you say, "I'm off to the Gentlemen's Club!" and get overheard by one of the monarchy's dogs it's probably no big deal. If anything he's going to regret he's on duty and can't do the same. But if you say, "Off I go to the Conspiracy of Equals!" or something to that effect, we're all going to find ourselves in irons before we have time to think up a less _moronically obvious name_."

"Not to mention," added Estelle with a sigh, "Anything with 'liberation front' in it is _so_ overdone."

"I'm sure the name's fine, yeah," said Deidara dryly, giving Sakura the unpleasant reminder that _he was really there_. "But more importantly, who's leading this thing?"

At least he was useful for something, she thought as she leaned in to hear the answer. This was information she needed.

Jean cleared his throat importantly. "We don't believe in leaders," he informed them proudly, "Because power leads to corruption."

The other revolutionaries looked at each other uneasily before Pascal began, "While that is _technically_ true, Jean..."

"In difficult times, there is occasionally the need to delegate decision making to one individual," finished Sorel.

Sakura waited eagerly for a more concrete reply. Beside her, Deidara raised an eyebrow, equally awaiting an answer.

"And I guess," said Sorel awkwardly, "That that person is me."

Deidara made a small, strangled noise as Sakura stared incredulously.

"However," he continued quickly, "I only make the decisions for this one group."

The other revolutionaries nodded enthusiastically. "That's right," said Estelle, "There are lots of other cells!"

"_Lots_ lots," added Jean, making extravagant hand gestures to illustrate his point.

Sakura felt her heart sink. "And each one has a different leader?"

"That's right," said Sorel with an enormous grin. "And we operate under the highest levels of secrecy! Only a few of us know a handful of people in other cells. This is the same across the entire revolutionary network. While this makes communication a bit difficult, it's much safer – even if one branch is compromised, most of the others will remain untouched."

The other revolutionaries – minus Titian, who was still regarding the scene with complete apathy – rushed to affirm these facts.

What had only hours before seemed like a simple mission suddenly made Sakura want to break down and sob in frustration. She _couldn't_ just kill Sorel and be done with it. Somehow she had to find out the locations of all the other groups and the identities of their leaders. And while she'd taken the first step by infiltrating a cell, something seemed to tell her that it was a cell of the lowest order, with the least amount of contact with the other groups. Not to mention there was now the additional trouble caused by the appearance of a dangerous mass-murderer who was a threat to her undercover status.

"I don't care about any of that, yeah, " said Deidara brusquely, cutting off the chatter of the revolutionaries and silencing Sakura's thoughts. "What do you need me to blow up? More banks?"

"Banks?" asked Sorel, genuinely perplexed. "Why would we ask you to blow up a bank?"

"Because," explained Deidara, in a way that told Sakura the entire situation was trying his patience, "You must need some money, yeah?"

"_No_," said Jean, in a tone that conveyed he thought Deidara must be extraordinarily stupid. He continued as though he had rehearsed his words many times and was now delighted to share his wealth of knowledge with the less informed: "The concept of money is an evil created by the royalist scum to instil greed in the population and thus distract their minds from the injustices being perpetrated by the oppressing classes in society."

Jean looked infinitely pleased with himself and was oblivious to the murderous glare he was receiving from Deidara.

When none of the revolutionaries jumped to correct their fervent young comrade, Sakura asked, confused, "So if that's true, does that mean you didn't blow up that bank's vault a few weeks ago?"

"_Oh goodness no_!" cried Estelle with exaggerated shock.

Sorel's smile was unbroken as he explained, "We're peaceful revolutionaries, you see."

"Nonviolent," added Jean happily.

Sakura and Deidara stared.

"But," said Estelle, spreading her hands in a sign of defeat as she gave a pouty frown, "Just distributing pamphlets, spreading revolutionary ideas, and preparing the lower classes for the next step in history isn't going to get us the change we need."

"That's why we contacted you two," said Sorel.

"But wait," began Sakura, still confused about one thing. "If you guys didn't do it, then who blew up –" As she suddenly remembered who she was sitting next to, everything clicked into place. "Never mind," she finished glumly.

"Anyway," continued Sorel, "You must want to know why we've recruited you." While neither Sakura nor Deidara appeared very enthusiastic any longer, he continued anyway: "We've realized that we can no longer rely on our traditional methods to incite revolutionary spirit among the masses. It's time for us to take action – bold action. Even if that means slightly bending our ideals."

He leaned his elbows on the table in front of him and fixed his new recruits with an intent stare. "That's where you come in. The monarchy makes strong use of symbols to uphold its power, and by undermining or destroying these we will strike a direct blow at the regime's image of omnipotence. That's why we chose you two – for your power and stealth."

"Also," added Pascal, "Because you take measures to avoid casualties. You can't claim to speak for the people if you're killing them."

Sakura raised an eyebrow and shot a questioning glance over at the Akatsuki. He glared back at her, and Sakura decided not to make any comments for the moment – not until she figured out exactly what was going on.

"We've planted the seeds of revolution," said Sorel. "We've spread the ideas and used our time wisely. But now we need to inspire the masses to action, show them that they can throw off their shackles and be free from oppression, that the monarchy isn't infallible."

"But before we can get started on that," he continued with a grimace, "There's another small matter to attend to." He turned towards Sakura and gave her a small frown. "I've spoken to the thieves' guild on your behalf, and they refuse to let you off completely."

"You _really_ should have got a permit before you stole anything," Jean told her. Sakura ignored the surprised look the Akatsuki was giving her and hoped that her expression was at least partially apologetic and not entirely confused.

"Fortunately," said Sorel, suddenly cheerful again, "We've come to an agreement that will satisfy both of our groups."

Sakura was doubtful that the arrangement would also satisfy her and her mission, but she listened anyway.

"Since you stole a considerable amount without permission from the guild, they require you to do one high-risk job for them," Sorel explained. "They've been dreaming about hitting the police chief's mansion for ages but haven't figured out how to get past his security. We're both confident though, that it'll be possible with your skills."

Sakura could see where this was going and didn't like it one bit. At this rate, she'd rob the whole country blind before she took out a single revolutionary leader.

"Once you get into the mansion, the guild is looking for one particular item: a platinum and sapphire necklace belonging to Carlotta, the chief's wife. It's common practice for the upper classes to pay for their luxuries out of the pockets of the taxpayers, and the thieves' guild is particularly convinced that this is one such ill-gotten item. This is where _our_ part of the arrangement comes in."

Sorel looked enormously pleased with himself as he continued, "You'll deliver the item to a guild contact, who will then hand over its value in cash. The guild is in favour of the revolution, particularly the concept of class equality, and has agreed that since the item was paid for with the money of the people, it should make its way back to them. As such, you're to then _redistribute_ the money to the oppressed population."

Sakura didn't like this idea at all. She'd stolen the other jewellery with the intention of returning it once the mission was over – something that didn't seem likely in this situation. "How am I supposed to do that?"

Sorel shrugged, unconcerned. "I'm sure you'll think of something."

Sakura nodded in agreement, despite her mounting frustration. She couldn't back out of this – she needed to gain the revolutionaries' trust so that she could infiltrate their organization and the other cells further. And while she was cleared to use whatever means necessary to achieve her mission, Sakura wondered if she was pushing it a little too far.

Estelle lit up another cigarette and watched the two newcomers closely. "You know, Sorel," she purred, keeping her eyes fixed on Deidara and Sakura, "I think this mission might be a bit too much for the girl alone. Why don't we send the other new blood along with her?"

"I'm perfectly capable of handling this on my own," Sakura replied hotly, both offended and frantic to keep her interaction with the Akatsuki to a minimum.

Sorel pursed his lips and considered this for a moment. "Actually, I think Estelle may have a point. I'd feel awful sending anyone into such a dangerous situation without backup." He gave her a wide smile. "Yes, it would be much safer for you to go together."

Sakura didn't quite know how to tell him just how wrong he was.

* * *

Deidara concluded that there was no other description that fit the obnoxious blond lady – Estelle or whatever her name was – more than 'conniving bitch'.

Obviously fully aware that the atmosphere between the two new recruits was more than a little strained, she'd done her best to exacerbate the situation. Not only had she arranged for him to accompany the Konoha girl on her mission, she'd also insisted that he walk her home. "A young lady shouldn't be walking alone at this hour," she'd said, her concern exaggerated and artificial. "Since you two live in the same area, clearly you'll have to escort her home."

She'd then batted her eyelashes, too long to be real, and ignored Sakura's protests that she could take care of herself. Deidara had kept quiet for the most part, simply because the entire situation had become so absurd that he had no idea how to deal with it. The revolutionaries had all agreed that it wasn't right for Sakura to walk home alone, and despite Jean's insistence that he would go with her instead, decided that Estelle's suggestion was for the best.

And that was how the two bitter enemies ended up walking together down the dark and abandoned backstreets of the Sun Country.

Deidara kept his guard up, alert for any sudden movements or a suggestion that she was reaching for a kunai. But the girl made no hostile actions and seemed equally tense, watching him out of the corner of her eye. He knew she had at least a few concealed weapons, but she didn't appear to be heavily armed. More and more he had the feeling that she wasn't there with the express purpose of hunting him down, and that their meeting was purely due to a horrible coincidence.

At last, when he was certain the revolutionary base was out of earshot and he could no longer stand the silence, he rounded on her and demanded, "What the _hell_ are you doing here, yeah?"

Her temper snapped at the same time and she hissed back, "I could ask you the same! You're supposed to be dead!"

That was at least a relief to hear – if she was surprised to see him alive, she hadn't been sent to look for him. That still didn't answer his question though, and there was another small detail that had to be addressed.

"You didn't tell anyone who I am," he said, watching her guarded expression.

"You should be glad – for all their talk of peace and nonviolence, I take it they don't know about your past."

"And if they won't even let you walk home alone, they probably don't know yours either."

The girl nodded slightly, still on edge. "Are you going to leave the group now?" she asked.

"Why would I do that, yeah?" he sneered. "Don't think of yourself so highly."

She clenched her fists, and Deidara was almost amused that she was so easy to annoy. "Well I'm not leaving either."

"I didn't ask you to."

Her fists tightened. This was too easy.

"Why are you with them anyway?" she asked, her voice harsh and full of malice. "They're a bit of a step down for you."

"Maybe, but you're not really one to speak -- for the high and mighty Konoha I think this qualifies as slumming it," he shot back.

"What do you mean 'high and mighty' --" she began furiously, but stopped short at the appearance of a grin on his face.

She wasn't a missing-nin if she was still willing to defend her village, he concluded, pleased with himself. That only left a few other options.

Clearly unsettled by his sudden good mood, she set her mouth in a thin line. "Look," she said, changing the topic, "I won't tell them anything about you if you don't say anything about me. Just leave me alone, and I'll do the same for you."

The fact that she so desperately wanted her identity to remain a secret was the last hint he needed. She wouldn't need to take any precautions if she'd been hired by the revolutionaries, so that left him with only one other guess at her motives.

"That sounds alright," he said, making sure to smirk at her because it was obvious she didn't like that. Hoping that his guess was right, he added: "I wouldn't want to interfere with your mission – can't have you screwing up after the Sun Country finally broke down and hired you, yeah?"

Sakura tried to keep her face neutral and cover up the stumble in her step, but she wasn't much of an actress. Deidara congratulated himself and watched as she kept her eyes fixed straight ahead and swallowed hard.

Before she got any crazy ideas of taking him out to preserve the secrecy of her mission, he continued: "I really don't care, you know. It's not like I'm not going to stop you from assassinating them all."

Her face went through a few contortions of anger and disbelief before finally settling on confusion. "Then why are you even helping them?"

He shrugged and decided to save the artistic lecture for another time. "Sounds like it might be fun."

She stared at him for a moment, then turned away and muttered something that sounded like a remark about his mental state. Deidara was in too good of a mood to take offence – now not only could he destroy the Sun Country under a legitimate pretence, he'd also get to watch the downfall of the impossibly annoying revolutionaries. If ever the girl's mission began to pose a threat to him, he'd take off for somewhere else. He'd just have to watch his back.

At last, life had become exciting again.

The girl continued to watch him silently. She had calmed down and eyed him cautiously, still tense and ready to act. It had been easy to bait her, but Deidara was suddenly reminded that he still needed to be cautious. It wouldn't do for him to forget that she'd killed his former partner. And as much as he tried to avoid admitting it, he _wasn't_ the same as he used to be. A bit angry with his own carelessness, he scowled at her.

The girl took a deep breath and seemed to gather her courage. "Truce?" she offered uneasily.

He eyed her warily, but decided that he really didn't care if she slaughtered the entire revolutionary group, just as long as he got to explode at least a couple architectural monstrosities. He nodded.

"For now."

* * *

**A/N: **If you're seeing references to history or cinema, you're probably right. Some of the biggest ones: Jean Jaurès was a famous French socialist, and just about every French town has a street named after him. The Conspiracy of Equals was a real organization during the time of the Directory, but was infiltrated and destroyed by the government. Supposedly they were also one of the first major groups to have advocated the use of revolutionary cells. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and thank you to all reviewers!


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